


Give it All (if Only for a Moment)

by TransScribe



Series: Give it All Series [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 13 years of catholic school so I can parody the old testament, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Fluff and Angst, I'm very sorry for this, M/M, a cookie if you notice my dumb genesis references dfgjhkd, based on art!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransScribe/pseuds/TransScribe
Summary: 1941: a year of revelations; changes. Some things are worth the risk. Some things are too good to last.----A series of events from the church scene to the apocalypse
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Give it All Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847371
Comments: 52
Kudos: 97





	Give it All (if Only for a Moment)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MuffinExplosion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinExplosion/gifts).



> Inspired by this tumblr post by MuffinExplosion: https://it-is-ineffable.tumblr.com/post/189946665915/have-another-manip
> 
> I saw this post & my brain really ran with it, so have this bittersweet little fic of mine. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, yes, the title is from All This And Heaven Too by Florence + The Machine

_ London, 1941 _

Crowley had found, not long after getting a car of his own, that one of the main things he enjoyed about driving was driving  _ fast _ . He’d been known to push his car beyond what it really should be able to do, purely because he wanted it to. As a demon, he had the privilege of being able to bend reality to his will, just a little, and he used it primarily for his own amusement. 

At the moment, though, with Aziraphale in his car for the first time, Crowley was almost driving  _ slowly _ . The two of them hadn’t spoken in far too long, if you asked him, and he wanted to take advantage of this chance to sit beside Aziraphale, to be close to him. 

The angel in the passenger seat clutched a bag of books tightly to his chest, looking at Crowley with a gaze that was laden with emotion.

“Are you alright?” Crowley asked, sparing a glance at him before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Yes, of course, perfectly!” Aziraphale blurted, not sounding convincing at all. He fixed his eyes straight ahead.

Crowley’s brow furrowed, concerned, but he didn’t push it. 

Aziraphale swallowed, cleared his throat, broke the silence.

“So,” he began. “Um. Anthony?”

Crowley huffed a laugh, a smile breaking across his face.

——

Crowley pulled to a stop outside the bookshop, their conversation drawing to a close.

Aziraphale didn’t get out.

Instead, he worried his lip, fidgeted with the suitcase in his lap. Finally, he turned to Crowley, expression nervous and hesitant.

“Would you... Would you care to come inside for a nightcap?” 

And really, Crowley couldn’t ever say no to him.

——

Aziraphale’s definition of ‘nightcap’ had always been a bit… loose. 

Generally, a nightcap refers to a small glass of spirits to end the evening, only enough to keep someone around for, say, half an hour at the most. 

Aziraphale, however, let them into his bookshop, invited Crowley to settle in, and brought out two entire bottles of wine. 

It was hardly a nightcap, but there was no way in he— Hm. No way  _ on Earth _ that Crowley was going to complain. 

“So,” Aziraphale began, pouring a glass for Crowley. Red. “What have you been up to, since… Well, since last time?”

Crowley took the proffered glass with a  _ ‘Ta.’ _

“Not an awful lot, really. I’ve, uh, well… Been sleeping, mostly.” 

“Oh? And how has that worked out for you?”

Crowley snorted. “’S interesting, sleeping for that long. The sleeping itself is alright, but waking up is… Odd. I forgot humans changed so quickly. Usually I’ve been there to see it happening. Easier to adjust that way. And, well, I  _ did _ wake up in the middle of a war.” 

Aziraphale hummed. “I imagine that  _ would _ be confronting. Especially considering you slept through the first one.” 

Crowley blinked. “Wha’do you mean, ‘the first one’?”

The angel cleared his throat, ignoring the question. “How long have you been awake, then?”

Crowley made a few senseless noises. “Bit over half a year, I think? It was long enough to catch up on current events, at least. Get a car.  _ And _ to stop you from getting yourself discorporated.” 

Aziraphale smiled softly. “I  _ am _ very glad you were there. I prefer to spend as little time as possible Upstairs these days, and they’re not very efficient with processing forms.” 

“Anytime, angel. Really.” He took a sip. “What about you, then? What’ve you been up to in my absence?” 

“Oh, you know. A lot of roaming the halls, weeping.”

Crowley shook his head fondly. “Bastard.” 

“In all seriousness, though, when there’s not an awful lot of fighting, I’ve been  _ mingling _ .”

“ _ Mingling _ ?“

“Yes, mingling. I joined a club!’

“ _ You didn’t _ .“

“I most certainly did. A discreet gentlemen’s club.”

“A  _ what now _ ?” 

“Oh, hush. You know well enough."

“No, seriously,  _ you joined a homosexual club while I was sleeping? _ “ Crowley’s expression was awestruck. "Christ, I’m never letting you out of my sight again. Tell me  _ everything _ .”

Conversation passed comfortably between them as Aziraphale recounted what Crowley had missed, both historically and personally, since he had fallen asleep. Their first bottle of wine moved easily into their second, then an additional third that Aziraphale had miracled from storage onto the table. It was three-quarters done by the time the conversation petered out, flowing into soft laughter and comfortable smiles. 

Aziraphale swirled the liquid around the bottom of the glass, watching the legs of the red wine appear and be washed away again. He exhaled heavily, seemingly making up his mind about something, and lifted his gaze from his glass. 

“I’m in love with you,” the angel said, with absolutely no warning or preamble. 

Crowley choked on his wine, spluttering and hacking until he remembered that he didn’t necessarily need to use his respiratory system and decided to stop, then fell silent with his mouth wide open in shock. 

Aziraphale traced mindless patterns in the side of the glass, a blush creeping up his face. 

“I’m in love with you, and— and I think you are… In love with me too.” When Crowley remained silent, he continued. “B- because you’re… kind and thoughtful. To me. And I don’t think that’s the same for everyone, with you.” He swallowed; took a sip of his wine. “And, well, I can sense it. Love.  _ Your _ love. Have for a long while, really.”

“Why now?”

Aziraphale blinked, surprised at the sudden comment. “Sorry?”

“Why now?” he repeated, voice just slightly wavering. He refused to meet Aziraphale’s gaze, knowing the swirling mix of what he was feeling - confusion, hope, a growing spark of  _ joy  _ \- would show clearly in his eyes. That, and he was overwhelmed. He needed space to think. "Why are you telling me this now, and not any other time in nearly  _ six thousand years? _ “

Aziraphale licked his lips, finding the words. 

“Because I missed you. When we last spoke, I… Well, I said no because I want to keep you safe, and giving— giving you holy water didn’t seem the right way to do that. But then we didn’t talk at all, not even a letter, for almost eighty years.” He took another sip, let it sit in his mouth. “I had a lot of time to think, then, and I realised that perhaps I haven’t made it clear enough through my actions how much I care for you.” Aziraphale looked up to make sure Crowley was listening. “And then you turned up, out of nowhere, to save me from my own error, and you even thought to protect the books when I didn’t, and I… I had to tell you. I need you to know that everything you do for me isn’t unappreciated."

The redhead shook his head. “You don’t make me feel unappreciated, Aziraphale,” he said softly. He breathed deeply, tapping his fingers against the stem of his glass. “So what do you want me to do with this?”

“Well, you see, Upstairs has been awfully quiet of late; I think they’ve gotten bored of me, and I’m getting away with the ‘frivolous miracles’ again, so I don’t think they're watching as closely as they used to—“

“Angel.” 

Aziraphale sighed, collected himself. “I’m just saying that I think we could chance it, and… I’d very much like to kiss you. If you wouldn’t mind.” 

Slowly, a grin crept across Crowley’s face. “Oh you would, would you?” he teased, sliding off his glasses and pushing up from his seat. He dropped down on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, folding the sunglasses and slipping them into his pocket. “Well, it’d be very undemonic of me to pass up an opportunity to tempt an angel, wouldn’t it?”

Aziraphale huffed a laugh, tinged with nerves but also  _ relief, _ muttered an affectionate  _ ‘fiend' _ , and leant upwards.

——

Crowley stayed the night at the bookshop, discovering an upstairs flat he hadn’t actually known Aziraphale owned. 

_ “It’s always been there, really. I just haven’t had much use for it beyond storage, considering I don’t sleep and I can make tea just fine downstairs.” _

_ Crowley had hummed, removing years of dust with a quick miracle. “’S nice,” he said, one hand linked with Aziraphale’s.  _

_ “I’m glad you think so.” _

_ Crowley kissed him, and squeezed his hand. “Take me to bed?” _

_ So he did. _

Something in his brain hadn’t connected the dots between ‘falling asleep in Aziraphale’s unused bed’ and ‘waking up in Aziraphale’s previously-undiscovered upstairs flat, with Aziraphale warm and here and… reading’. The demon grumbled and nuzzled into Aziraphale’s warm side, tossed an arm across his lap. 

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said, his tone laced with amusement. 

“Mmf. Not awake yet.” 

“Shall I get you something? Coffee, tea?”

Crowley shook his head, pulling the angel closer. “Jus’ gimme a minute,” he mumbled, humming contentedly when a hand landed in his hair. 

(He knew, somewhat, that Crowley was affectionate when he was tired - there’d been times long passed when touch between friends was more common, and Crowley had clung to him while drunk or exhausted, ostensibly for stability - but it was another thing to be able to fully appreciate the way Crowley hung off him now, arms around his waist and head on his shoulder, kiss upon kiss pressed lazily to his cheek, his shoulder, his mouth. Yes, this was different. This was better.) 

Aziraphale decided to make breakfast, once Crowley finally dragged himself out of bed. For a being who didn’t technically need sleep, he certainly dedicated himself to going through all stages, including the reluctant waking up. 

The angel made a plunger of coffee, plus tea for himself, and debated whether to pop down to the shops or just miracle the ingredients he’d need for a hearty breakfast. 

“We could just go out, you know,” Crowley pointed out, before sipping his coffee. It was good: it warmed his hands, and Aziraphale made it well (he knew just how the demon liked it, for starters). He wasn’t so sure his skills in brewing tea and coffee would transfer to cooking. 

“Well, yes, but…” Aziraphale trailed off. He twisted his hands together. “I wanted this to be special, you know. Our first morning together.” 

Crowley grinned. “Aziraphale, you’re a complete  _ sop _ .“ The angel blushed. The redhead drained his mug, then waved a hand, fixing up his clothes. “Come on then,” he said, his mug clinking on the bench as he put it down. “Proper ingredients taste better.” 

——

The resulting breakfast was, surprisingly, quite edible. Aziraphale had enjoyed many a good meal over the years, but had far less practice as the one actually cooking. Between the two of them, however, they managed to make a passable Full English, over which they discussed the changes they’d made between themselves. 

“It might not have been the best time to start something, really,” Aziraphale mused. He paused for a mouthful. “Humans in this area have been quite against homosexual relationships for a while now.” 

“Seems that might be changing, actually,” Crowley said. “And really, the humans aren’t the ones we need to worry about.” 

Aziraphale went quiet, for a moment, poking at a slice of sausage. “I don’t know what’s going on Upstairs, but like I said, I haven’t heard from them.”

Crowley hummed. “Downstairs didn’t stop me from sleeping for eighty years, so I think it’s fair to say they’re not keeping their eyes on me as much.” He reached for his coffee, third of the day. “Did send down a report saying I was indulging in Sloth, though.”

Aziraphale gave a small smile at that, but it fell quickly. “It’s never going to stop being dangerous, Crowley. You must know that. But… I’m willing to risk it, if you are.” 

The demon reached across the table for him. “You  _ know _ I love you, angel. I’ve always been a bit reckless when it comes to you, so… As long as you want me, I’m here.” 

“But what do  _ you _ want? I don’t want you to just do this for my sake, just to make me happy.” 

Crowley snorted. “What I want is you, angel. Thought I’d made that clear. We’ll figure out the rest of It as we go.” 

“You must stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Being  _ nice _ .”

Crowley made a noise of disgust. “Don’t insult me, Aziraphale.” 

The angel grinned. 

——

It went like that, for a while, the two of them navigating their way around this new thing between them. Crowley showed Aziraphale his flat, worried it would be unfair to keep encroaching upon Aziraphale’s space without letting him into his own. They stayed there a few nights, before days where Aziraphale planned to open the shop late, or not at all, but mostly they stayed in Aziraphale’s flat. It was more convenient and, in many ways, more comfortable than Crowley’s sparsely-furnished flat, although his bed was larger. 

Most of all, however, they stayed together. It was rare, after that first night, for them to return to their respective apartments after a day together without the other, as they used to. When the two of them had decided to chance this, they had thrown themselves into it whole-heartedly. It didn’t take long at all for Crowley to grow accustomed to curling into Aziraphale’s warmth when he slept, or for Aziraphale to expect a kiss when Crowley left for the day - little temptations, small incidents of mischief, just to ensure Hell kept off his back - for the two of them to start calling their lunches together  _ dates _ , and to finish the night together, in bed. 

It became a new normal, more quickly than either of them had really anticipated. Aziraphale opened his shop of the day, and Crowley would either duck out or stay with him: keeping him company, scaring off customers, lending a hand. 

It was one of the latter days, two years in, with Crowley sitting on the bookshop’s counter, flirting and leaning in to the blushing shop owner, when the bell above the door rang gently. Crowley pulled back, slid off the counter and put a more respectable distance between the two of them. Aziraphale cleared his throat, plastered on a business-smile that he hoped would distract from his reddened cheeks. 

“Hello, can I help you?”

The man - young, perhaps in his late twenties, looked up from where he’d been skimming the shelves. He smiled politely, though he looked nervous. “Just havin’ a look, thanks.”

Aziraphale smiled, nodded, fidgeted with his hands. He could feel Crowley’s eyes on the side of his head. His face flushed again. “Could you pop on the kettle for me, dear boy?"

“‘Course,” the demon said softly, fondly. It was too much, in that moment, and his stomach clenched with guilt when he felt relieved for the space between them as Crowley walked away. It was different, he realised, for people to have certain perceptions about Aziraphale’s orientation, to openly discuss it amongst others of his ilk, and to be caught about to kiss his partner by someone he did not know, in his place of business. He knew, really, that it wasn’t humans he had to worry about; he and Crowley had discussed as much before. But, well, if something were to happen to him and Crowley, if they were  _ discorporated _ and had to explain why… 

It didn’t bear thinking. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t allow fear to cloud such a good thing. 

He spent several long minutes attempting to calm himself whilst keeping an eye on the customer to see whether they appeared suspicious. He almost jumped when Crowley placed a mug in front of him, focused as he was. Aziraphale took a grateful sip of his tea, offering a wavering smile to his partner. 

“You alright?” Crowley asked, quietly enough that the customer wouldn’t be able to hear them. 

“Of course, absolutely tip-top.”

Crowley looked unconvinced. Aziraphale sighed. 

“I’m fine, really. Just got a bit… spooked, is all.” He cast a glance towards the customer, who was obscured from their line of sight behind a shelf. He reached out to squeeze Crowley's hand, then let go. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.” 

The demon shook his head. “Don’t,” he said softly. “I get it, it’s alright. You don’t need to apologise.” 

Aziraphale’s face displayed all of his fondness. “Thank you, Crowley.” And between them passed another three words, unspoken.

——

The customer came to the counter and laid out several books. A jolt of panic shot through Aziraphale at the thought of having to part with so many of his collection at once. 

The customer cleared his throat, and Aziraphale caught the meaningful look he was getting. He looked more closely at the books in front of them. Wilde. Whitman. Forster. 

“Some favourites of mine,” the customer said, and Aziraphale thought he might be catching on. 

“You… Aren’t here for the books, are you?”

The man smiled sheepishly and shook his head. “Thought it’d be indelicate to waltz in and start asking about you and, uh, that friend of yours.” He stuck out his hand. “Isaac.”

Aziraphale shook it. “Fell.” 

“Awfully sorry to be blunt, sir, but word gets around in our circles, and, well…” He bit his lip. “We have a bit of a… A club, I suppose, but not like the pubs around the place, and we were wondering if you and your friend would want to come along.” Isaac smiled nervously. “It’s nice to have a community, you know?”

Aziraphale thought about it, and found he rather liked the idea. It had been nice when he’d been on his own, and he could imagine it would be better with Crowley there as well. “Well, I’d have to talk to Anthony about it, but… I don’t see why not.”

Isaac’s smile turned to a grin. “I’ll leave the information with you and you can see what your  _ friend _ thinks about it, then.”

The man left a small card on the table, and gave a jovial wave as he walked out. 

Once he was alone, Aziraphale picked up the card, finding an address, a name, and a phone number written on it. He turned it over in his hands. He checked the time; glanced towards the backroom where he knew Crowley was, decided to lock up for the night.

“Crowley, darling?” Aziraphale called as he locked the door, flipped the sign. 

“Mm? Yeah, angel?”

“What would you fancy for dinner?”

——

Later that night, lying together in their bed, Aziraphale thought about his encounter in the shop that evening. He was face-to-face with Crowley, tracing gentle patterns on the other’s palm while Crowley looked at him through heavy eyelids. 

“I spoke with that man in this bookshop this evening,” Aziraphale said quietly. Crowley just hummed, so he continued. “He wasn’t there to buy any books.”

“’S always good,” Crowley teased sleepily. 

Aziraphale hummed. “Apparently word is going around about us in  _ certain circles.” _

“Oh?”

“He’d heard rumours about us. Wanted to invite us to join a little community they’ve gathered.”

Crowley stopped Aziraphale’s hand that was tracing his and tangled their fingers together. “And what did you say?”

“That I’d talk to you about it.” 

“And what do you want to do?”

Aziraphale stared at their joined hands. “I’m not sure. It could be nice, I think. Having somewhere where we can be just a little bit more open.”

“But?”

“There’s always the concern about… getting attached to humans. Their lives are so short compared to us. And then there’s the matter of getting attached specifically to a group of humans who are currently being persecuted, and I’m just… Not sure.” 

Crowley nodded in agreement, the movement only slightly hindered by the pillow he was pressed against. 

“What do you think?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Dunno. Could be fun. Might be nice to show you off a bit.” Crowley ginned and kissed Aziraphale’s nose. “Make all the other men jealous, spread a bit of envy.”

Aziraphale snorted. “I believe it would be more likely that they’d be jealous of  _ me _ . You’re quite the catch, you know.”

“Shut up,” Crowley murmured, burying his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder, but he was smiling. The angel ran gentle fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

“Shall we try it out, then? Go along to this little club and see what we think when we’re there?”

Crowley nodded, then slung an arm around Aziraphale’s waist. 

“Love you, angel,” he mumbled. 

Aziraphale smiled, and pressed a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. 

“I love you too.” 

——

_ 1948 _

Glasses clinked together, and Crowley downed a glass of Champagne, laughing and linking arms with one of the other members of their small club. 

“Why're we doing all this again?” he chuckled, wiping his eyes, tipsy after the events of the evening. Their friends had arrived at Aziraphale’s bookstore carrying various bottles of alcohol, most of which were empty by this point of the night. 

“To celebrate!” Maree cried, leaning heavily on her girlfriend. “’S been five years since you two first came along an’ made us all believe in love again!” She promptly dissolved into cackles. 

“Wha’?” Crowley squinted behind his glasses. “We’re far from the only couple here.”

“Yeah, but you’re still just 's disgustingly in love as when we all met you,” Isaac slurred. 

“Aziraphale’s never been disgusting in his  _ life _ ,” Crowley argued. 

“See? Awful.” 

Crowley threw a cushion.

By the end of the evening, Crowley was all but hanging off Aziraphale (really, he was almost unbearably clingy when he was drunk. Well, it might have been unbearable if Aziraphale wasn’t, as they said,  _ disgustingly in love _ ). He sat in Aziraphale’s lap, head against his shoulder, one arm around his neck and one in their laps, tangling their fingers together. He was completely content, at peace in a way that Aziraphale usually couldn’t sense from him, and it flooded Aziraphale with affection. He squeezed his free arm around Crowley’s waist, and the demon grinned into his shoulder.

“I thin' we sh’d leave,” Phillip slurred. “Fell should put 'is man t’ bed, ‘e’s ‘ad too much.” 

Aziraphale chuckled, gently running his fingers up Crowley’s side as his partner grumbled and burrowed closer into his neck. 

“I think you may be right,” the angel said. “Come on, dear, I should see our guests out.” Crowley protested as Aziraphale pushed him off, immediately flopping back into the now-vacant armchair. Aziraphale tutted, leading the remaining guests to the door. “Lovely having you, sorry for Crowley’s poor manners.” 

“Aw, he’s alright,” Maree said, and the others nodded in agreement. “We’ll see you two next time. Cheers.” 

Once the door was closed and locked for the night, Aziraphale made his way back to where Crowley was now half asleep in his armchair. With a kiss to his cheek, Aziraphale tried to help him stand up again. 

“Alcohol doesn’t usually make you this tired, dear.”

Crowley hummed, nuzzled into Aziraphale’s shoulder, slipped his arms around his angel’s soft hips. “You’re warm though,” he said drowsily. Aziraphale was warm, and he was used to falling asleep in that warmth, now. “Seven years,” he said, slightly muffled by the shoulder he was buried in. 

Aziraphale’s hands pulled his partner closer, drifting up and down his spine. “It has, hasn’t it?” he said softly. "Been seven years, that is.” Crowley kissed his shoulder, and the angel smiled lovingly, though he couldn’t see it. “It’s gone so quickly, but I can’t imagine how we managed before, and yet I know that seven years compared to almost six thousand is nothing at all.” 

“’S not nothing.” 

One of Aziraphale’s hands came up to rub at the back of Crowley’s head, run through his hair. “No, it isn’t. What we have is…”  _ Everything.  _

Crowley seemed to understand the unaired end of that sentence, and tightened his hold for a moment. “Love you,” he said, turning his head just slightly, to be sure Aziraphale would hear him. 

And it had been seven years, and Crowley had said those words - shown his love - countless times, and Aziraphale’s stomach still flipped to hear them. Give them seven hundred, seven  _ thousand _ years more, and he was sure it would feel the same. 

Aziraphale looked forward to it. 

_ I love you, too. _

——

_ Soho, 1951 _

They made it to their ten-year anniversary, and Crowley insisted they do something to celebrate. Milestones like these don’t - well,  _ shouldn’t _ \- mean much to immortal beings, but when you have been living on Earth since the start, when you have a job and friends and a reason to mark the days with mealtimes and going to bed of an evening, the years start to matter, so Aziraphale didn't argue with the idea. 

Plus, what they had between them was… Special, to him. He was more than happy to celebrate it. 

They ate at a joint known for letting couples like them come in freely. Early, so it wasn’t busy, so there were only a few people around to see. They didn’t go out like this, much. There was always that lingering worry in the back of their minds. At that point, with their friends, there was more than just their own safety and reputation at stake, so they didn’t risk it, often. But they did for the night.

One of ladies from their club worked here; knew it was their anniversary, and gave them wine on the house. They held hands, above the table, and it was exciting. It was  _ exciting _ to let people see them, and know it was alright. They didn’t get that often. 

They ate, and they left with their arms linked together, and they made it back to the bookshop unharassed.

“Got something for you,” Crowley said, rubbing the back of his head. “’S not much, but, well. Thought you’d like it.” 

He pulled out a box, tied messily with a ribbon, which Aziraphale undid with more care than had probably gone into doing it up. In the box was a mug: white, with wings for the handle, and Aziraphale laughed softly. 

“Flip it over,” the demon said, an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

He flipped it. Engraved into the bottom of the mug was 

_ ‘For my angel, with all my love. _

_ -C’ _

Aziraphale grinned; turned and kissed Crowley sweetly. 

“Thank you, dearest. I’ll use it every day.”

“Mm, you better,” Crowley teased, and kissed him again.

After a moment, Aziraphale said: “I have something for you, as well.” 

From his pocket, he pulled a small jewellery box. 

Crowley froze. 

“It’s an awfully human gesture, I know, and I know that we can’t marry, but I like what it represents, so I got you this.”

He handed the box over, and the demon opened it very carefully. Inside was a ring, attached to a chain. Engraved along the inside were the words  _ ‘Forever, my dear.’ _

With shaking hands, Crowley lifted the chain and clipped it around his neck, then promptly buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

The angel’s arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly. 

“Perhaps one day, we might—“ Aziraphale swallowed around a lump in his throat, smiling, eyes wet. “Well, perhaps I might buy you a proper ring.” 

Crowley nodded into his shoulder, then pulled back and kissed him before he could notice the demon’s tears. 

What felt like hours later, Crowley broke the kiss, then pressed their foreheads together. 

“You all but proposed to me, and I got you a fucking  _ mug _ ,” he said wetly. 

Aziraphale chuckled. “It’s an awfully nice mug. Plus, you engraved it as well.”

Crowley laughed. “I adore you, angel.” 

With a hum and a smile, the angel kissed him again. 

——

_ 1952 _

“Wha’s that then, Freddy?” Phillip asked. He was resting his mug of coffee on his knee while his boyfriend, Maxwell, sat on the other. The current gathering of their little club was taking place in his and Max’s living room, and he seemed more relaxed than usual because of it.

“’S a camera, innit? Just got it new after my last pay cheque. Newest model.”

“Why’d you bring a camera in ‘ere?” 

“I dunno, thought maybe I could… Take some couples photos. You know, like other couples get to do sometimes. All those men keepin’ photos of their missus in their pockets, thought maybe if people wanted them I could do some of those for us.” 

Aziraphale looked up from the book he had sitting in his lap. “Actually, that sounds rather lovely, Freddy.”

Crowley shifted where he sat, cross-legged on the floor with his head against Aziraphale’s knee, to look up at his partner’s face. “You’d like that?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Well… Yes, actually. I think it would be nice to have pictures of us together. And Freddy’s right, it’s not like we can really get professional photoshoots done.” 

The demon grinned. “You’re a  _ sop _ .”

“Yes, well, you should know that by now, darling.”

Crowley pushed himself up to kiss him. 

Throughout the afternoon, Freddy moved around the room, periodically taking photos. 

Crowley blinked in confusion at the flash. “What’s all that about?” 

“I thought it’d be nice if it was candid,” Freddy said. “Y’know, more natural.” 

“Oh. Right. Guess that’s fair.” He brushed his hands across Aziraphale’s shoulder; kissed his head. “More tea?” 

“Oh! Yes, please, my love.” He handed over his empty mug with an affectionate smile, making Crowley blush. 

“Aww, you two are so  _ married _ ,” Isaac teased. 

“Shut up,” Crowley said, but there was no bite to it, and he was smiling.

——

After a point they began to take it for granted. Five years, then ten,  _ fifteen _ passed without word from Above or Below, and the two of them truly settled into what they had together. Neither had really been the prime examples of what their workplaces wanted from them; maybe it was easier to get them out of the way. Place the two of them on Earth so they could, what, battle each other until Armageddon? Whatever it was, Crowley and Aziraphale would be the last to complain. 

But that’s always where it goes wrong, isn’t it? At the point when your guard goes down, when you stop looking over your shoulder, just when you think it’s safe to go back in the water and all that. That’s always when trouble strikes. When the plates are set and still, the tablecloth is ripped out from underneath them. 

The plates are still and settled now. 

Except this time the tablecloth is taking them crashing to the floor with it. 

——

_ 1958 _

Aziraphale approached the front of his shop, ready to open for the day, only to find someone already there. A jolt of panic shot through him.

“Gabriel.”

In his store. After all this silence, Gabriel was in his store, and Crowley was mere metres away, in the back room. 

And Aziraphale had no way of telling him to leave, get out, protect himself from this. 

“Aziraphale.” He sounded unimpressed. 

“To- to what do I owe this pleasure?” Aziraphale asked, strained. 

“Word gets around. It’s been said you’ve taken up with a lover.” And oh, he thought he’d been panicking  _ before _ . 

“O-Oh?"

“You can’t do that, Aziraphale. In my opinion you’ve been down here too long, but we can’t recall you just yet. We need you on Earth for the End, which is  _ fast  _ approaching,” he chuckled to himself; walked across the bookshop like he owned the place, eyeing the rows of shelves with disdain. “But you’ve spent too long pretending to be human and you’re forgetting you can’t have the things they have.” 

Aziraphale gulped, wringing his hands. “What do you mean by that?"

Gabriel stopped, stared him in the eye, unimpressed. "You’re an angel and a servant. You’re here to do a job, and that’s the end of it.” There was a sense of finality to everything he said. "We’re gonna keep a closer eye on you for a while, and this has to stop, or we’ll do something about it. Ok? We don’t currently know who this  _ partner  _ of yours is. Best keep it that way.”

With an insincere, sickening smile, Gabriel vanished. 

——

Aziraphale had really only just left when he came back into their room, looking rather more haunted than when he left.

“Angel? What’s the matter?” Crowley asked, sitting up properly.

“You have to go,” Aziraphale said, eyes unfocused.

The demon blinked. “What?”

“You have to leave, it’s not safe, you’re—“ Aziraphale choked on his words. “You’re not safe with me.”

“Aziraphale, what the heaven are you talking about?”

“That’s just it! Heaven, they’ve— they’ve been watching us, this whole time. We thought we were safe because they’d been quiet but, oh, Crowley, we should have  _ known _ —“ 

Aziraphale was crying, and Crowley was instantly by his side.

“Aziraphale,” he said slowly. “What’s happened?”

“Gabriel, he... he was in the store, telling me heaven knew I’d- I’d found a lover, and that it had to end or...” he shook his head. He couldn’t think about it. “They don’t know it’s you, thankfully, but you need to  _ go _ .” 

Crowley’s heart split open in his chest. His eyes slipped shut. He pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s. 

“He was right,” the angel whispered.

“What could that bastard possibly be right about?”

Aziraphale let out a broken sound, a poor imitation of a laugh. 

“He said I’d been down here too long, forgotten that I’m not actually human. I—  _ we _ can’t have what they have.” Aziraphale’s eyes squeezed shut. “You’re a  _ demon _ .” And somehow, even now, that didn’t sound like a bad thing coming from his mouth. It wasn’t an accusation, wasn’t anything more than a regrettable circumstance. A resentful reality. 

Crowley’s arms slipped around Aziraphale’s waist. 

“I love you.” And damn it all if he was going to cry right now. “It was fun while it lasted.”

Aziraphale almost managed a smile, at that. He kissed Crowley, and it felt like goodbye. 

“Oh, but wasn’t it just?” 

——

Crowley returned, alone, (really alone, in the sense that he wasn’t just waiting for someone. No one was coming for him. Not anymore.) to his apartment for the first time in years. He lingered in the doorway, reluctant to enter. The space felt empty to him, everything - the rooms, the spaces between the furniture, the bed - was too big. It had been a long time since he’d been here with no idea of when he’d next see Aziraphale. In the seventeen years they’d had together, any time they’d spent apart had a timer set to it. 

_ “Just popping to the shops, need anything? I’ll be back within the hour.” _

_ “Got demon things to do, I’ll be back for tea.” _

_ “There’s a book auction just out of town, if you don’t want to come I’ll get the bus. I’ll be back tomorrow lunchtime at the latest.” _

And all of those times there had been a kiss, an  _ "I love you” _ , a smile. 

And none of those times had the kiss tasted like salt, had the  _ “I love you” _ wavered, had the smile been broken. 

None of them had been a goodbye. Not like the last one.

_ I love you  _ (I’m sorry)

_ I love you _ (please don’t make me go)

_ I love you _ (why can’t we just have  _ this one thing? _ )

Crowley cried out and upended the coffee table. Everything in this room had memories, and it had to  _ go _ . The spaces in between were too wide, and he wanted to make them  _ wider _ , empty out the room, flush it clean, leave it as gaping and raw as he felt. 

The anger drained from him as a blank, numb exhaustion took over, and he saw what he had done. And it was a mess. 

He looked at the space he had shared with Aziraphale when they wanted a break from the shop; some time in a different, quieter place. He felt the echoes of Aziraphale in every corner of this space, and  _ looked _ at what he’d done to it. He was a demon: a creature of chaos; destruction. Evil. 

That was what it boiled down to, in the end. He was a demon. And Aziraphale - his beautiful, beloved Aziraphale - was an angel, and it was never going to work, was it? 

The room around him, upturned and broken as it was, blurred as his eyes welled up. Snake eyes. Demonic. Unnatural. Should they even be able to cry?

With a scoff of disgust (at what? Himself?) he turned on his heel and stormed to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

And maybe that was a bad idea. 

The bed in front of him was still slightly rumpled from the last time he’d slept in it. With Aziraphale. He remembered, they’d woken up and Aziraphale had dragged him out of bed with a craving for crepes which couldn’t wait for Crowley to miracle the bed made but  _ could _ wait for an irresponsibly long shower together. 

Crowley in the present, alone and heartbroken, slipped into the side of the bed his angel usually took, burying his face in the pillow. It smelt like him, just slightly. If an off-handed miracle encouraged that scent to stay, well. No one needed to know about that. 

Crowley pulled the blankets up over his shoulders, nuzzled the pillow. 

Demons don’t cry. It’s a sign of weakness, a sign of someone too  _ soft _ to survive the existence inherent to Hell. 

But, well. Crowley had been on Earth for millennia, and he’d never been a very good demon to begin with. 

——

It was five years before Crowley woke up for long enough to even consider rising, and it was mostly because he kept being flooded with pangs of embarrassment thinking about the state he’d left his lounge room in. 

At some point in 1963 he decided to finally do something about it, if only so he might be able to sleep a bit longer and a touch more peacefully. 

He cleaned and tidied as much as he could without the use of miracles because, somehow, he found it soothing. He fixed with miracles whatever he couldn’t manually, and as he worked he found he was focused enough on something else that his mind could wander to what had happened five years ago without the same intensity to the heartbreak. 

He thought back further to what had happened just over a hundred years ago, his fears beforehand that they weren’t safe, that he’d need  _ insurance _ . All things considered, really, he was more certain than ever before that he was right.

He was a demon, though, not an idiot. Or an asshole. He knew he couldn’t ask Aziraphale again. (Not now. Not after everything.)

He’d need to find another way. 

Crowley went to his kitchen to make himself some coffee and a plan. 

——

_ Soho, 1967 _

Aziraphale was rearranging books when the bell above the door jingled. He pursed his lips, irritated. He’d been hoping to avoid any more customers for the day. 

“I’m afraid we’re closing up, so you’ll have to be rather quick,” he called out. 

“Not here for the books, Mr. Fell,” a voice replied. 

Aziraphale stopped what he was doing and stepped out from behind the shelves. Standing just inside his bookshop was a man he hadn’t seen in years. “Phillip! What brings you here so late in the evening?” 

Phillip’s eyes flickered to his watch. “’S only 7pm,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve got some news for you, sir.” 

“Oh?”

“Well, you've ‘ad us keepin’ an eye out for Mr. Crowley…”

“Mm? What about him?” Concern pinched his brow. 

“Heard around that ‘e’s getting together a group. Wants to rob a church, or somethin’.” 

Dread turned Aziraphale’s stomach to lead. There was only one reason Crowley would want to rob a church - they may have rather decadent chalices from time to time, but those wouldn’t be enough to pique his fancy. 

“Awful brave of ‘im, I think,” Phillip said, breaking the silence. He fiddled with his hat in his hands. “Or foolish. Never really come off as a believer, that one.”

Aziraphale choked a laugh. “I suppose you could put it that way,” he muttered. He was distant, lost in his own mind, that much was obvious to any onlooker. 

“You alright, Mr. Fell?”

“Hm?” His gaze moved back to Phillip’s face. “Quite, dear fellow. Thank you. I’ll… keep what you told me in mind.”

Phillip nodded. “I’ll see myself out, then, if there’s nothing else you need me for?”

“No, perfectly alright, I won’t keep you any longer. Say hello to that young man of yours for me.” 

“Hardly young men anymore, are we?”

Aziraphale chucked quietly to himself. “No, I don’t suppose you are.” 

He turned to leave, catching the sadness in Aziraphale’s eyes. The fear. Phillip paused at the door. “You take care of yourself, alright?” he said, the sentiment sincere. 

Aziraphale offered a weak smile. “And yourself. God’s blessings be with you."

Aziraphale locked the door once he left, resting his forehead against it for a moment. 

_ Oh, Crowley. What are you getting yourself into? _

——

For the first time since Gabriel, Aziraphale found himself sitting in the passenger seat of the Bentley, Crowley sitting next to him. His fingers ran idly along the leather of the seat, thought about all the other times they’d sat like this, the same distance apart but so much less between them. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed a word with you.”  _ Please don’t do this. Don’t be reckless because I’m not there to stop you. _ “I work in Soho, I hear things.”  _ Did you really not think I’d be keeping an eye on you? _

He handed over the thermos of holy water, one he’d blessed himself, because it was the lesser of two evils. Getting humans to fetch it for him— they wouldn’t -  _ couldn’t _ \- know the risks. They could get sloppy: it’s just holy water, to them; a blessed thing. A cap not done tight enough, a drip down the side, a container overfilled and leaking at the seal— 

Any of it touched Crowley and it would eat away at him, slowly, destroying him gradually; painfully. Aziraphale could be careful. He could prevent all of that. If it meant offering Crowley the means to end himself when things got too rough, well, better than it happening now by an accident he could have prevented. 

The softness on Crowley’s face almost killed him.  _ You can’t look at me like that while I hand you a means to your end. _

“After everything you said.” And Aziraphale was ready to break right there, to yell at him that nothing and everything had changed in the years between then and now, that he couldn’t then and couldn’t now face the idea of losing Crowley, but now he knew what it was like to kiss the demon and hold him close and love and  _ be loved _ by him, and sometimes people and ethereal beings have to adapt. Sometimes they have to change their minds. Sometimes they have to make the choice they never wanted to, because it’s the only one left to them. 

And then Crowley said: “I’ll give you a lift,” with a pleading face, eyes hidden behind glasses that Aziraphale was no longer used to seeing. “Anywhere you want to go."

And Aziraphale’s heart  _ shattered _ . 

it wasn’t fair. He had to know it wasn’t fair. Because Aziraphale couldn’t keep sitting there, in the Bentley, where he had sat so many times, and not think about what they weren’t allowed to be anymore. 

How long had it been? How long since he’d kissed Crowley and known it was the last time? How long before that had he been oblivious and hopeful and lovestruck? Aziraphale knew how long, down to the second, but the numbers didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it had been too long, and not long enough. 

They dealt with loss differently, the two of them. Aziraphale needed space, time, distance. Crowley needed to skip past the hard parts, speed run through the grieving even if that meant sleeping until he forgot. 

_ (Aziraphale was shocked that he was awake, really) _

The angel needed more time to forget what it felt like to bathe in Crowley’s love, unabashed and free (and he wouldn’t forget, he wouldn’t, he knew he wouldn’t, but maybe in time it would  _ hurt _ less. He could hope). 

Aziraphale wanted to cry, but more than that he wanted to accept the offer, sit side by side, hands linked in the middle, as it had been before and would never be again. But he couldn’t. 

So Aziraphale swallowed back his tears, met Crowley’s eyes with his own glistening ones, and said: “you go too fast for me, Crowley.” 

And he didn’t say: “I’m sorry, it’s too much, I still love you far too much.” But he wanted to. 

And Aziraphale got out of the car, leaving Crowley and the holy water and his entire heart behind. 

And Aziraphale, halfway down the street on the way to his bookshop, let himself cry. 

——

There were celebrations, that year, 1967, as ‘homosexual acts’ were decriminalised across England and Wales.

Aziraphale and Crowley, separated from each other, thought of the friends they had had. They thought of the couples who could more freely be together now, fear between them lessened. 

It was bittersweet. Perhaps, in another world, the two of them would be celebrating as well. One less barrier keeping them apart.

In the end, that barrier meant nothing. Earth could pass all the laws they wanted, lower every human wall keeping them seperate and their love secret, and it wouldn’t change a thing. 

It didn’t change a thing. 

There were forces more powerful than law at work. Fears greater than human discrimination. Barriers higher than gender and sexuality. 

They hadn’t been caught by Heaven. Not really. Not  _ yet _ . But the fear and danger would always be there. From the Beginning to the Apocalypse. 

And that would be it. The End. 

Wouldn’t it? 

——

_ London, 2019 _

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how many times his heart would break over Crowley. After so many years, he thought he’d be over it: the pain, at least, if not Crowley himself (he would never be over Crowley).

And yet here they were, face-to-face, from opposite sides. The End was coming, and soon he would never see Crowley again, and what was he doing about it? 

Well. He was pushing him away. Again. 

_ “I don’t even like you.” _

And it was a lie, he had to know it was a lie, but he was  _ so scared _ . Everywhere he turned, heaven was watching over him, and he had to make sure they didn’t see Crowley as well. 

He had to make sure that he was  _ safe _ . But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be sure of anything. 

The End was coming, and soon there would be a war. And then he wouldn’t be able to do anything for Crowley. 

_ “It’s over.” _

And it was. Everything was. 

_ Have a nice doomsday. _

——

So the world didn’t end, somehow.

And somehow, against all odds, they were free. 

They tricked Heaven and Hell, scared them enough to be left alone. 

For the first time, for certain, there was no one watching. 

They dined together, at the Ritz, and they didn’t fear their head offices finding out.

They were on their own side, and there was nothing but  _ relief _ .

Aziraphale brought them home to the bookshop, unburnt and comforting. He led Crowley through, saying something or other about a nice bottle of wine he hoped had survived the destruction and subsequent remaking by Adam: something he had been saving, hoping to share with Crowley. He was shaking slightly, nervous in the face of all this freedom, and when Crowley gently gripped his elbow, he stopped entirely. 

Crowley turned Aziraphale to face him; smiled softly and pulled him closer. 

When their chests were pressed together, their faces only centimetres apart, Crowley smiled fondly. 

“Hello there. Been a while,” he teased. 

“Oh,  _ do _ shut up,” Aziraphale responded, tone full of affection, before pulling Crowley the short distance down to kiss him. 

And they could do this now, again, but this time it seemed they might have the rest of forever lying before them. It wasn’t a risk they were taking while they thought someone wasn’t looking; wasn’t a kiss behind a bush so no one would see. 

No, everything had aligned for them now. Humans had changed, Above and Below were leaving them be, and Aziraphale and Crowley could love each other out loud, in public, if they so wished. 

And really, after all this time,  _ they fucking wished _ . 

The kiss broke, and Aziraphale felt his eyes grow wet with the joy he felt. He took one of Crowley’s hands in one of his own and, like a mirror of so many years before, gently asked: “Come to bed with me?”

And Crowley, changing constantly in all ways but one, couldn’t say no to that. 

Not much had changed in Aziraphale’s room since he had last been there. He didn’t have much need for it without Crowley, and spending too much time in there had always hurt, before now, so he hadn’t thought to change it. 

Except for one small thing on the bedside table that hadn’t been there the last time. 

A picture frame. 

Stepping away from the -  _ his _ \- angel, Crowley picked it up. He blinked, stared, felt his eyes well up. 

“You kept this,” he said, quietly. 

“Of course I did,” Aziraphale said. “I wouldn’t dare part with it, even if it hurt, sometimes.” 

Crowley traced his fingers down the old photo. The two of them, Crowley bending over Aziraphale’s shoulder with their hands laced together, looked happy. He snorted at the caption. 

_ Mr. Fell and his “companion". _

Trust Freddy to have labelled it like that. 

He placed the frame back on the table, gently, with the utmost care. Aziraphale had moved to stand beside him, looking at the photo over his shoulder. Crowley put a palm to his cheek, kissed him again. 

“I love you,” he said, and  _ someone,  _ being able to say that again was incredible. 

Aziraphale smiled, slipped a hand around his neck, and said simply: “Move in with me.” 

And that was it. Long term, official plans between the two of them, started as easy as that.

It was the first day of a new world, one that hadn't ended and no longer had an expiry date. They, and everyone else, had a second chance. 

And they saw what lay ahead.

And they were  _ happy. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of tempted to write an epilogue, so let me know if you feel that would work well/is something you'd like to see!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
